The Romance of Deduction
by xxLunaTerraxx
Summary: What if John had asked Sherlock out at the beginning? What if Sherlock had said yes? How would things of been different? After Sherlock's suicide, John contemplates about their life together and what the future holds for him now. SLASH.
1. Chapter 1

**Authors Notation: **So I have about five one-shot Johnlock fics that are a WIP and my mind just couldn't keep itself from developing this multi-chapter idea. I was laying in almost slumber and couldn't help but wonder how the show so far would have been different if John and Sherlock started a relationship. What extra scenes there would have been, how conversations would have been different, the extra emotion behind everything that happened between them...and thus this baby was born.

Saying this chapter is a bit dark is quite the understatement. Mentions of suicide, suicidal thoughts and just all around depressing images and FEELS. If any of that makes you uncomfortable, you might just want to wait til I get chapter two up. If it doesn't, and you're still hanging around, I suggest you have some tissues ready.

**Disclaimer: **BBC is a god and I am merely its humble slave that makes no profit whatsoever off of this work.

**Chapter One**

John Watson was completely numb. Not that it should of surprised him considering it was how he usually felt these days. He got up, got dressed, made tea, messed around on his laptop (he hadn't worked on his blog in months), maybe watched some telly (if you called staring blankly at the screen watching), but mostly he just sat around his flat lost in his own personal space of pain and torment. Currently, he was doing just that via sitting in his designated chair by the fireplace. Sighing, John ran his hands over his face and hair before resting his elbows on his knees, fingers still threaded through his blond locks. If there was such thing as a hell, then John was pretty sure he was in his own personal corner of it.

It had been six months since Sherlock's untimely death, or suicide as it were, yet it still felt as if it had all happened yesterday. John lowered one of his hands and looked at it with intensity. It had been the hand that had reached out for his best friend, the hand that had curled around the wrist that had been getting colder by the second. He drummed his fingers against the air as he remembered blindly trying to find the pulse that would prove to him that it was all a trick, just some elaborate hoax thought up by the great Sherlock Holmes. Those dreams were shattered however when he had been unable to locate one before his hand had been forcibly removed by the paramedics.

John turned his hand over and stared at the veins that protruded through his skin. There were times he found himself wondering why he was still alive. What gave him the right to have fresh blood pumping through these veins when his best friend and lover had none? Who made the decision that he should be the one sitting here alive and breathing and Sherlock should be the one six feet under? Closing his now shaking hand into a fist, John bit down hard into the skin to muffle the strangled sobs he could feel forming. Six months...it had been six months and in no way shape or form had it gotten any easier.

Why had he done it? Why had Sherlock jumped? That was another question that John still continued to mull over. Granted, Moriarty had indeed done what he set out to do, to destroy Sherlock and his public image, but they would of gotten through it right? Their love would of given them strength until everyone had gotten over the scandal and moved on to the next hot subject and forgot all about it. Heck, they probably could of even used Mycroft's connections to speed up the process. John's body started to shake as a lone tear slipped past his eyelids and down his cheek. Hadn't John's support been enough? Had public opinion really mattered that much to Sherlock that John's wasn't worth a pound?

John couldn't hold back his anguish any longer as droplet after droplet of his pain left trails of wetness along his cheeks. Anyone had to admit, he had been doing a pretty good job at keeping his torn soul from falling the rest of the way apart, but he just couldn't do it anymore. Placing the hand that wasn't still muffling his sob on the armrest of the chair, John went to force himself to stand up. He stumbled some, almost falling to the floor as the room decided at that very moment it was a good time to start spinning. Reaching out to steady himself on the small table next to his chair, John took a moment to breath steadily through his nose before vigorously wiping away still spilling tears and the stains that they left behind. He then mustered up the strength to make his way into the kitchen. He paused in the doorway, if only for a moment, to take in what was laid out before him. Mrs. Hudson had been on to him about cleaning up Sherlock's experiments and boxing up his equipment, but John just couldn't bring himself to get rid of anything. Seeing the last experiment he had been working on still strewn about the kitchen table almost made it feel like Sherlock was still around. Giving a shaky sigh, John continued his movements through the kitchen, past the sink and down the connecting hall that would lead him to Sherlock's bedroom.

Even though they had been together, Sherlock still liked his privacy, so they opted to keep both bedrooms open and, depending on how they felt that night, would determine which bedroom they slept in; if they had the energy, they made the trip upstairs to John's but if they were exhausted, barley able to move off the couch, they would make the short trip to Sherlock's. It was a system that surprisingly worked well for the both of them. Now though, John couldn't remember the last time he had slept in, what was considered, **his** room. He had even moved all his important things into this one bedroom. It could be argued that surrounding himself in Sherlock's space was unhealthy for his mental stability but John would tell anyone who brought it up to just bugger off.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, John marveled at the fact that Sherlock's sent was still swirling about the air even six months in. Grabbing one of the pillows, he held it to his persons and inhaled the dark sent that was completely Sherlock's. There was also the lingering scents of his shampoo, body wash and aftershave but that was mostly because John had taken to using said products for himself. Lowering the plush object from his face John's eyes were drawn to the nightstand nearest to the door. There were two pictures on it: one was of Sherlock and Mycroft together when they were young lads, while the other was of John and Sherlock sometime during their life together. John couldn't help but laugh as he reached out and took hold of the simple frame that housed such a sentimental object.

It had been during one of their many cases together. This particular one involved a murder at a carnival. One of the carnies had been discovered behind one of the booths with his throat slit and twenty six stab wounds delivered postmortem. It had been found out that he had been having an affair with the owners wife. It was thought up by Lestrade, and the other officers of the Yard, that he had killed the man out of jealousy. Sherlock had deduced however, that he had been murdered by the woman herself because he had tried to cut off the affair hours earlier. On their way out, after arresting the suspect, John had noticed one of those strange booths that people got into to have their picture taken. He had always wanted to try one, but never got the chance. To this day, he had no idea how he gotten Sherlock to agree to get in with him, but he had and the pictures had turned out quite nice. After they had gotten home Sherlock had said he wanted to pick out the best one a put it in his room. John had raised an eyebrow at that, teasing him on how sentimental that was of him, to which Sherlock merely frowned, snatched the photos away and retreated into his bedroom. John didn't see his pouting form for the next twenty four hours to say the least.

Settling the photo back on the nightstand, John's hand then traveled lower until his fingers grazed the silver handle attached to the top drawer. He hesitated, knowing full well what he was going to find laying on top of all the papers and nicknacks still housed inside. Drawing a breath, John gripped the handle and pulled back, flinging the drawer open with such force he almost pulled it all the way out. There, staring right at him in such a taunting manner was his beloved pistol, freshly cleaned and freshly loaded.

Taking a breather, John kept the drawer open but looked away, opting to gaze at the wall straight ahead of him. It wasn't the first time he had considered suicide, but the temptation just seemed so much more demanding now than it had been previously. It wasn't like he hadn't **tried** to get over Sherlock and move on, heck, he had even had help. Mrs. Hudson and Molly had offered to help clean out the flat, Lestrade had been trying to set him up on casual dates, heck, even his sister had offered to allow him her spare bedroom until he found another place. John closed his eyes and shook his head. He had wanted none of it. He wanted Sherlock's things to stay right where they were, he wanted to wake up and come home to see their flat every single day and, most importantly, he didn't want anyone else. Male or female, he didn't want anyone else touching these bed sheets. He didn't want anyone else caressing his body, pressing their lips to his or saying the words "I love you". All he wanted was his Sherlock.

Fresh tears stared streaming down his face as he reached into the open drawer and pulled out his gun. Getting a firm grip on it, John maneuvered the opening of the barrel to his right temple, but froze when his finger curled around the trigger. Lowering the pistol from his head to his lap, John let loose a shaky breath at the ramifications of what he had almost done. Did he really want to kill himself? Did he really want to end it all right now? Did he really want to take the same cowardly route as Sherlock had done? People say that when a love bird dies, its mate just stops living. John barked a short laugh at the thought. Well that was exactly how he felt right now, a mate who had lost his other half, so why should he keep on living? A small voice in his head shouted at him, 'because you have friends who care about you, you idiot! You have family that loves you, granted they are dysfunctional! Plus, what would Sherlock think of you!'

The corner of John's lips quirked upwards and he let loose a snort. Sherlock...the man who had started all this. Started up his feelings, his life and was now seemingly starting up his death. The man had such power and John silently wondered if Sherlock ever knew how much. Granted he knew about his intellectual power, but his emotional prowess was somewhat foreign to the man. John wondered that, if he was able to point all this out to him now, if Sherlock would give his traditional eye roll and state how obvious such a conclusion was or if John would take him totally by surprise. John smiled as it most likely would have been the latter with some sort of comment of how impossible it all sounded.

Sherlock really had brought John to life. When he had first met the man, he had seen nothing but a strange case and was utterly confused by his deductions. As he got to know him however, he saw a brilliant mind and a person who, despite his tremendous flaws, had much to offer the world. He also saw that, because of his mind and lacking social skills, he was looked down on most of the time and considered a freak. Not to John though, not in John's eyes. Sherlock had a beautiful mind, a beautiful body and a beautiful way of life that intrigued and thrilled John all the same. It was all this that had attracted John in the first place. In all honesty, John has been quite taken aback at first. He had never been attracted to a man before in his life. Come to realize though, Sherlock wasn't your typical man; he wasn't your typical human being for that matter so none of the basic rules for sexual orientation really applied. So with this in mind, John had asked Sherlock out. It had been after a particularly grueling case involving a serial murderer and potentially unrelated victims...

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I hope it didn't get too dark for some people and I hope I was able to really capture the true hopelessness and despair one usually feels when loosing someone they love so deeply. I also tried to mix in some positive emotions, so as to counterbalance the negative, so I hope I did well with those too. The next chapter(s) might have some angst in them but nothing as bad as this, promise. ^-^

Please leave behind your questions, comments and anything else you wish for me to read! (:


	2. Chapter 2

**Authors Notation: **Took me forever to get this second chapter written, but I have to say I am greatly satisfied with the outcome regardless of how long it took. (: Just in case one cannot tell, these next chapters are basically going to be flashbacks that show the progression of John and Sherlock's relationship all the way up to Sherlock's "death".

**Disclaimer: **I do not own said characters and am making no profit off of this whatsoever.

**Chapter Two**

The past twenty-four hours had been long and grueling to say the least. Traveling to the farthest side of London to examine a dead body, essentially being kidnapped by the British government (or someone who works for them anyway), literally running a marathon along the streets of London, tracking and killing a wanted man and, all the while, dealing with an eccentric flatmate on the side. Any normal person would have been absolutely worn out and ready to collapse by now, but not John Watson. John was still high of adrenaline and felt like he could do it all again and then some. Part of John told himself that he should have been worried, but then that side of him was quickly told to sod off. He had lived, what could have been considered, a "normal" life before this and, personally, he found it hadn't gotten him very far.

Currently, him and his "eccentric flatmate" were a few blocks down from Baker Street, getting ready to partake in some, hopefully, delicious Chinese food and have some much needed foot rest. The place wasn't anything fancy, more like a little hole in the wall, but Sherlock had assured John that this was the best Chinese food in London. The owners spoke very little English, but that was rectified by Sherlock who surprised John by actually knowing a bit of the language. When asked how many more languages he knew, Sherlock asserted he knew a total of thirteen different languages, French being his prime favorite.

John sighed as he made his way back to the booth they shared near the back on the restaurant. Sherlock had made him wash his hands numerous times to make sure he got all the gunshot residue washed away. John had assured him that he had thoroughly washed but Sherlock had said he was still clearly able to see remnants of the black powder and told John to wash his hands no less than seven times. John thought about just hanging out in the bathroom for fifteen minutes and saying that he had done what he was told, but he was sure Sherlock would have been able to tell that he was lying. Sliding back into the booth opposite his companion, John wiped his still damp hands on his jeans, slightly disappointed their food hadn't been brought to them yet.

Sherlock's attention was currently preoccupied with the drink menu. John was unsure whether or not Sherlock was actually thinking about ordering something or he was just amusing himself until their food arrived. Seeing him reading it though was making John consider ordering one himself regardless and, he was just about to ask if he could see the menu when he was finished, when Sherlock spoke.

"Did you wash your hands?"

John gave an exasperated sigh before raising his hands from his lap. Sherlock glanced upwards and, after a few moments of running his gray-blue eyes over every inch of the hands presented to him, he uttered a low "good" before drawing his gaze away. With a look of annoyance still on his face, John rested his forearms on the table before commenting.

"Yeah, well, it better be considering I pretty much ended up rubbing my hands raw back there."

Sherlock didn't even look up as he spoke. "Yes, well I am sure everything will be fine but, like I said, I'd like to avoid the court case."

John rolled his eyes at his friend's comment. Wait...friend? Did he really consider the man sitting across from him as his friend? He had only known the man for two days time now and barely knew a thing about him. Granted that didn't stop him from killing for him, but he had been in danger right? If he hadn't shot the cabbie killer then Sherlock would most certainly be dead right now. He was just doing what any strong moral person would of done right?

John glanced over at Sherlock. His eyes were no longer roaming the drink menu but were closed in what looked to be either deep concentration or relaxation. One of his arms was thrown over the back of the booth and his head was tilted slightly backwards. It was then that John noticed that Sherlock had not only removed his scarf and coat while he had been gone, but his suit jacket as well. The top few buttons of his purple dress shirt were also undone, his neck and collar bone very much on display. He almost looked like a someone who was splayed out waiting to be worshiped by his lover. John then thought about what it would feel like to be said lover, to run his fingers through those tight dark curls, to see what kind of noises he could draw out by nibbling on his exposed flesh, to see if that thin cupids bow and pouty lower lip tasted as good as they looked.

John's could almost hear the screeching as his thoughts came to a sudden halt. Where in the world had all that come from?! He wasn't attracted to men so why in the world was he fantasizing about his flatmate and in a Chinese restaurant no less? John was very grateful that Sherlock's eyes were still closed as he felt heat rising in his cheeks. He could very easily blame it on the fact he was a little out of sorts from being so hungry but part of him wondered if that was really the case. He found his mind suddenly wandering back to that moment at Angelo's when he had asked if Sherlock had a boyfriend.

"_You don't have a girlfriend, then?"_

_"Girlfriend? No, not really my area."_

_"Do you have a boyfriend?"_

_"No."_

At the time, John hadn't really thought about the implications of Sherlock's statements. Now though, John couldn't help but realize the meaning behind those words. Saying that girlfriend's weren't really his area, while giving a simple negative to the boyfriend statement, spoke volumes in John's mind. Was Sherlock gay? And, if he was, would that mean he wouldn't be adverse to John coming on to him? John could almost hear his and Sherlock's voices echo in his head at what came next.

"_John, um ... I think you should know that I consider myself married to my work, and while I'm flattered by your interest, I'm really not …"_

_"No. No, I'm not asking. I'm just saying, it's all fine."_

John bit the inside of his cheek as he dove deeper into his thoughts. Had he really not been asking or had he just been trying to convince himself as such. Regardless though, it had sounded like Sherlock wasn't interested in anything so why was he even concerning himself with these thoughts? Was he seriously attracted to his flatmate, his very **male** flatmate? Which then lead to another serious question. Was **he** gay?

Not once in his life had John ever questioned his sexual orientation, yet here he was sitting in a restaurant at 2 o' clock in the morning doing that very thing. He could very easily blame the man sitting across from his for this strange turn of events but deep down he knew that wouldn't be right. Plus, he had a feeling Sherlock had absolutely no idea of the effect, positive or negative, that he had on regular people, much less his recently flustered flatmate.

Looking up and glancing around the restaurant, John thought it was a good of time as any to test to see if he was really attracted to the same sex (in for a penny, in for a pound as they say). Sitting at a table situated a few paces down from their booth, and the only other customers in the building, were two young men seemingly enjoying a late night dinner and were involved in a very elaborate conversation of some kind. This was good considering neither of them were likely to notice John staring at them for the time being.

One of the men looked to be in his mid to late twenties. He had black hair that was a bit longer than Sherlock's, yet a lot less curly. John wasn't a hundred percent sure, but it also looked as if the underside of the man's hair was dyed a bright blue. At first glance, the man was built surprisingly a lot like Sherlock, but his cheekbones were a lot less prominent than the detective's and his lips had a lot more body to them. Also the man's bottom lip, nose and right ear were decoratively pierced, something John was sure Sherlock would never do.

The man also wore what looked to be a red sleeveless shit but it was covered mostly by a black leather vest that was held together by a set of buckles that latched in the front. A chain that was attached to one of said buckles, trailed down to the man's trousers to hook onto one of the many belt loops that circled the man's waist. John couldn't keep his eyes from nearly bugging out of his head as he took in the man's lower attire. The man wore knee high black leather boots that were laced in an intricate fashion and had heels that easily gave the man a good few extra inches to his persons. What had really caught John's attention though were his trousers. They were also made of leather and, from what John could tell, were so tight they could almost be considered a second skin and left nothing to the imagination.

Shaking his head so as to erase said image from his mind, John moved his attention to the second male figure at the table. This man looked to be a bit older than his counterpart but still younger than John. He had chocolate colored brown hair that was cut excessively short, but there was still enough left for one to run their fingers through and get a good grip if they so desired. He had a full face and a thirty watt smile that practically lit up the entire room. He attire was simple, a dark green shit and a pair of worn out jeans coupled with a nice pair of running shoes. From what John could tell, the man was pleasantly fit; his arms had a nice definition of muscle on them and the outline of a muscular chest was doing its best to make itself known.

John could admit that each man had their own air of attractiveness about them but he just didn't feel any kind of stirring when he looked at them. What did that mean then? Was he straight just like he originally thought? Of course, then what was the deal with him and Sherlock? Maybe he was just confusing admiration with attraction?

"Are you going to eat or are you going to ogle the only other people in the restaurant all day because, if you are going to do the latter, I should rightly inform you that each is already taken by the other."

John's head swiveled around to focus on the man sitting across from him. He had a pair of chopsticks in his hand that was currently holding onto a piece of sesame chicken that was midway to his mouth. Apparently their food had been brought to their table while John was busy trying to figure himself out and Sherlock was surprisingly almost halfway finished with his meal.

John could feel his face get beat red again, only this time Sherlock's intense gaze wasn't distracted so he saw every inch of the transition."Oh, no I wasn't...I mean it isn't what you..." John paused in his rambling as the last bit of Sherlock's statement sunk in, "Wait...how do you know those two are a couple?"

"It's obvious isn't it?"

John raised an eyebrow before looking back over at the two men. "Uhhh...no?"

Sherlock heaved a heavy sigh before putting down his eating utensils. He then drew his attention back to couple that John was staring at earlier.

"The man wearing the green shirt is obviously obsessed with his looks, weight lifting, tanning, perfect teeth, things that scream that he is trying to impress someone. Now since he goes through all the trouble to keep up appearances, even at said hour, wouldn't it be logical that he would be with the person he is trying to impress? Now the other man, he's obviously gay, what with him only having his right ear pierced, though common culture nowadays states that piercing the left or right ear doesn't signify sexuality anymore than wearing stylish clothing does but he either obviously wishes to stick to the old protocol or is ignorant of the change. He also occasionally rubs the tip of his foot against the athletic man's ankle, showing a great amount of intimacy. Also only one of them is carrying a wallet, showing that only one of them is paying for the entire meal, the handsomely built one, which signifies that they are on some sort of date. This also shows that **he** is the dominate partner, while the goth is clearly the submissive. And last, but not least, the black haired man is wearing a ring on his right ring finger. This signals, not marriage, but a promise of one. Now, what straight man would wear a promise ring, no that is typically used for girlfriends. Plus the ring has a tanning oil stain on it, clearly signifying that the man sitting with him was the one who gave it to him."

John stared wide-eyed at his companion, clearly amazed and taken aback by his deductions. He then chanced another look at the couple and took in everything Sherlock had said. "They really are together aren't they?"

Sherlock made a positive noise in his throat before continuing with his meal. "Yes, so if you would be so kind as to stop checking one or each of them out it would be greatly appreciated."

John nodded, and was just about to dig into his somewhat now cold meal, until he realized what exactly he was agreeing to. "Wait...what do you care if I was, as you put it earlier, ogling them or not?"

Sherlock glanced up from his food, a slight look of annoyance on his face. "Well you're not gay are you? So why waste your time?"

John knew he shouldn't be letting Sherlock's words get to him, but he just couldn't help it. Who was he to decide who he was allowed to look at and why. "What does it matter if I'm gay or not? I can size up other men if I want to! Besides, even if I was into men, how does that concern you? You're Mr. I'm Married To My Work remember?"

Sherlock's eye's narrowed. "What are you saying?"

John threw up his hands in exasperation. "I'm saying I would never ask you out on a date, that's what!"

Something inside Sherlock broke. It was subtle, but if one was paying attention, one would have been able to see a light go out of his delicate eyes at John's words. Quickly, and without any warning whatsoever, Sherlock placed his chopsticks next to his half eaten meal, put on his suit jacket, grabbed his coat and scarf and walked briskly out of the restaurant. Poor John barely had time to register what was going on around him until it was too late. Realizing exactly what he had said, John sighed before burying his face in one of his hands. He hadn't meant for it to come out like it had, but the damage was already done.

John lowered his hand from his face and looked at the now empty space in front of him. Looks like he was going to be left with the check this time, though John seriously doubted that, in this special circumstance, it actually made him the dominate partner. Dominate meant he had control and, right now, John had about the least bit of control over the situation imaginable.

###

John sighed as he let himself into 221B. The restaurant wasn't too terribly far from Baker Street, so John hadn't seen a need to hail a taxi, though he somewhat regretted it as his feet were killing him in the worst way now. He had stayed at the restaurant for over an hour after Sherlock had left. Not to finish eating, he had barely touched his food, but to give some deep thought as to what his next move in this game should be. He needed to fix what happened between them, that he knew, but how to go about doing it was a whole different story.

The stairway was pitch black, and John had to pretty much blindly feel his way up to the second landing because of it. The cause of said lack of lighting became apparent when John came to the door leading into the sitting and kitchen area. It was pretty much closed, a sliver of moonlight barely noticeable through the small crack in the door. Pushing the door open a sliver more, John could barely make out a massive lump curled up on the couch. Pushing it open a bit more, he saw the figure tense up at the creaking of the door. It was then that John realized that said lump was Sherlock and he was currently laying in the fetal position on their living room sofa.

Closing his eyes and exhaling though his nose, John slowly put the door back to its almost closed position and made his way up the stairs to the third floor and his bedroom. He had been thinking a nice cup of tea would hit the spot before bed but he didn't want to make the situation anymore awkward than it already was by being in the same room with Sherlock and having to blatantly ignore him, not out of choice, but because he had no idea what to say.

Once he was in the safety and privacy of his room, John shed every article of clothing he was wearing, except his pants, and flop unceremoniously onto his bed. He knew it was going to be a long night, as sleep was long in coming, but he figured he might as well lay down and get comfortable. Throwing an arm over his eyes, John began formulating ways as to make the situation between Sherlock and himself right. He had obviously hurt his feelings with his last remark and he needed to let Sherlock know he had not meant exactly what he had said. How was he going to do that though? And did he really have the testicular fortitude to admit that because, if he did, he would have to admit the one other thing he wasn't sure he was ready to.

John heaved a heavy sigh as he picked up one of his pillows and threw it over his head. Yes, this was going to be a very long night.

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Poor John. The man seems to have put himself into a hole here that he may, or may not have difficulty getting himself out of. And poor Sherlock as well. The man was clearly jealous of John checking out those other guys and, in response, gets all pouty and runs off. Though I will say that when Sherlock pouts, tis a very cute images lol

Also I hope I did alright with Sherlock's deduction. Took me forever to get it right. Had to write down bullet points before turning it into a full on paragraph.

As always, please leave a review and/or comment! (:


	3. Chapter 3

**Authors Notation: **Wow, I got this written in two days time? This is a new record for me. Usually it take a week or two for me to get anything updated. Ha! Feel the awesome!

Also I would like to thank Aerilon452 for allowing me to bounce ideas off of her. She is an amazing writer and I am thankful to have gotten to know her. ^_^

**Disclaimer: **Don't own. Merely borrowing the greatness for my own pleasures. Though whether or not I shall return them in their original state remains to be seen lol

**Chapter Three**

John was laying on his side, watching as sunlight streamed in through the window panes of his bedroom. Somehow, by the blessing of either a higher power or the universe just feeling sorry for him, John had managed to fall asleep last night. Unfortunately, it had been one of those restless sleeps where one might as well had not fallen asleep at all. It was because of said unrest that John was seriously debating about not getting out of bed today. Of course, if John wanted to be honest with himself, that wasn't the only reason why he wanted to stay hidden up in his room. In all truthfulness, John was very much dreading coming into contact with Sherlock. Last nights events continued to play out in his mind and he still had no idea how to rectify things.

Judging by the amount of light coming in through the partially opened curtains, John wagered a guess it had to be sometime after seven or eight in the morning. Reaching over to grab his mobile from its resting place on the nightstand, John pressed a button to turn on the backlight, allowing him to check the time. The digital clock read it was half past seven-thirty. John sighed and flopped over onto his back, phone still in his hand, eyes fixed on the ceiling. Sadly, he knew very well he couldn't stay in his room forever. Aside from the fact Sherlock was bound to come looking for him at some point, John was actually quite hungry and, unlike his flatmate, he couldn't go without food over a long period of time.

Willing his worn and tired muscles to finally move, John swung his legs over the side of the bed before sitting up. Scratching the lower section of his back, he then made sure to stretch out the kinks before attempting to stand fully upright. Beside the fact he seriously needed to wash all the dirt and sweat off from yesterday, John thought a shower might do him some good and calm his nerves. He swiftly removed his pants and casually walked into the adjoining bathroom, seemingly thankful for the first time in his life that he didn't have to share one with anybody.

Turning on the water, John gave it a few minutes before pulling the curtain aside and stepping under the warm spray. He took his time showering, doing his best to postpone the inevitable as well as just simply enjoy the feeling of the warm water cascading down his tired and aching body. After making sure to get all the shampoo and conditioner out of his hair, and after washing every inch of the exposed surface of his body, John rested an outstretched hand onto the shower wall and let the water beat down on his bowed head. He still had absolutely no idea how he was going to act when he saw Sherlock this morning or, more importantly, how Sherlock was going to act around him. Would Sherlock spend the whole day ignoring him or would they both just pretend that nothing happened?

What **did** exactly happen anyway? Where did everything go so wrong and why? John closed his eyes and replayed the entire restaurant scene in his minds eye. Everything had been fine until John had decided to do a double check on his sexuality and Sherlock made a snark comment about it. A scowl appeared on John's down turned face. Why had it bothered Sherlock so much that he was checking out two other guys?

"_Well you're not gay are you? So why waste your time?"_

Sherlock's words echoed deep within the recesses of John's mind and his scowl deepened. John knew now that he wasn't gay but, even if he was, what did it matter if he had been checking out two seemingly good looking guys from across the way? What did it matter to Sherlock? That was what John didn't get. And, yes, he might of hurt the guys feelings by saying that he would never date him but, again, why should Sherlock care? He **was** married to his work after all. He made that perfectly clear on the second day that they met.

John started to lightly knock his head against the tiles to try and bang loose some ideas and/or solutions to his problem. It wasn't until a moment of clarity jumped up and grabbed him by the throat did he suddenly stop in his movements and jerk his head out from under the spray.

No.

No way.

It couldn't be.

It couldn't be...**that**?!

John's dark eyes grew wide as he placed his head in one of his hands in disbelief. There was no other explanation for Sherlock's exuberant and over the top reaction. He had been jealous. The great Sherlock "Married To His Work" Holmes had been jealous that John had been checking out someone that wasn't him.

John couldn't hold back the small smile that graced his features at the thought. Unfortunately, it left almost as quickly as it had come. Sherlock had a thing for him, that much was certain beyond a reasonable doubt, but did John have a thing for Sherlock? Wasn't that the whole reason he had been checking out the two men at the table in the first place? And didn't he come up with the conclusion that he wasn't attracted to men just like he thought?

John heaved a heavy sigh and ran a wet hand over his equally wet face. If things weren't hard enough, they just had to get harder. Well, at least he had one of his questions answered, but what about the second one? How was he going to behave? He couldn't just pretend like nothing had happened, especially with this new found information he had gained, could he? John leaned over and turned off the now cold water and stepped out of the shower. He grabbed one of the white fluffy towels from the towel rack and wrapped it around the lower half of his body. He was just going to have to do exactly that until he could figure out a way to let Sherlock down as easily as possible. Yes, that was the best thing for both of them.

###

Fully dressed in navy blue trousers and a red button down shirt, John finally made his way downstairs. He had a lot more spring in his step then someone in his position should, but he figured that, if he was going to act like nothing was wrong, he should very well put his best foot forward in the matter and make it believable. Hitting the second floor landing, John noticed that the door to the sitting room was wide open. This was a good sign because it showed that Sherlock wasn't closing himself off anymore. With new found resolve, John nodded to himself and made his way through the door.

The sitting room was entirely devoid of people. It wasn't until he turned the corner into the kitchen did John discover the location of his flatmate. The man in question was sitting at the kitchen table quietly and completely immersed in whatever it was that he was looking at under his at home microscope. He had clearly changed into his sleepwear at some point during the night, though John wasn't sure if the man had actually been to bed at all, what with the dark circles under his eyes.

Thinking that tea would do them both some good, John made his way over to the cupboards above the cooker and brought down some Royal Blend for Sherlock and some English Breakfast tea for himself. He then picked up the kettle from its home on the counter and began filling it up with water from the sink. As he placed the simple white kettle onto the cooker, he turned his head until he could see Sherlock over his right shoulder.

"Do you want some tea?"

Sherlock grunted, and John took that as a yes, so he brought down two mugs and placed their respective tea bags in each. Waiting patiently for the kettle water to boil, John leaned his back against the kitchen counter and watched as Sherlock continued to stare down his microscope, occasionally taking a moment to write something down in a little notebook he had placed nearby. For a while, John just watched, but soon he became very curious as to what had his flatmates undivided attention so early in the morning.

"What are you working on?"

John wasn't sure if Sherlock just hadn't heard him or he was simply being ignored, but John's question merely hung in the air without answer. He was just about ready to ask said question again when the whistling of the kettle interrupted him. Quickly turning around, he removed the kettle from the burner and poured the pipping hot water in over each tea bag. Picking up both mugs, John walked over to the table side nearest Sherlock and placed the man's mug down in the biggest cleared out spot he could find (which was quite a feat when he looked back on it). He then walked back over to his previous spot and held the mug with both hands as he waited for his tea to steep. After a few minutes of waiting, John then lowered his lips to the rim of the mug and took a tentative sip. He closed his eyes and sighed. Yes, a fresh, hot cuppa was the perfect thing to have early in the morning.

Bringing his focus back to his more than quiet flatmate, John decided he would try again for conversation. "Got any new texts? Any new cases that need looking at?"

Once again, John got nothing out of his flatmate. Sherlock simply continued on with whatever he was doing and John remand stationary with his tea in his hands and a bemused expression on his face. He then tried asking another "yes" or "no" question, figuring a grunt was better than nothing.

"Do you want some breakfast?"

John didn't even receive a grunt this time, just total complete and utter silence. It was then that John had come to the definite conclusion that, yes, he was most certainly being ignored. Not bothering to hide his annoyance, because Sherlock obviously wasn't bothering to try and hide his, John heaved a heavy and loud sigh before putting his now forgotten tea on the counter behind him. He didn't have to take this childish behavior which was why, in that moment, he decided that he was going to go out for breakfast and then maybe for a little stroll down the street. If anything, that should give the overgrown child he had to room with time to get things together and start acting like an adult again.

"I'm heading out."

He had no idea why he bothered stating such a fact, as he knew it would go unacknowledged, but John had always been taught to be polite and he followed those teachings to the letter, even if certain consulting detectives did not. Throwing his jacket on over his shirt, John descended the rest of the way down the stairs and out the front door. Locking the door behind him, John then took a moment to breathe in the fresh London air. He had only been out of the flat a few seconds and John could already feel the tension Sherlock had caused slipping away. On a whim he decided to call up Mike Stamford and see if he wanted to go get something to eat with him. John was so engrossed in his own little world that he didn't even notice the figure standing in the window of 221B watching him leave.

###

It had been the weekend so thankfully Mike had been off work and free to indulge in a spur of the moment outing, which was good because John wasn't sure if he could stand to be alone with his thoughts right now. Currently they were filled with thoughts of Sherlock, as well as the issue at hand, and all John wanted to do was relax and enjoy some time with an old friend. They had decided on meeting up at the Canteen, a few minutes walk from 221B. It was relatively inexpensive and they offered some pretty decent food. John had decided on having a Full English Breakfast (bacon, eggs, fried tomatoes, fried mushrooms, sausage, baked beans and hash browns), while Mike ordered a simple sausage and roast union sandwich. They had been having pretty casual conversation while they waited for their food. It wasn't until after their meals had arrived did conversation take a turn into uncomfortable and unwanted territory.

"So, how are things with you and your flatmate then?"

John's fork stopped halfway to his mouth at Stamford's question. They both watched as the pieces of eggs that sat on the fork slowly slid off the prongs and fell back onto John's plate. John did his best to cover up the awkwardness by quickly scooping the pieces of egg back up and shoveling them into his mouth.

"Oh, um...they're...they're good. They're good."

Mike chewed the bit of food he already had in his mouth before setting his sandwich down and brushing his hands together, wiping the excess crumbs away. "Well now that wasn't very convincing."

John stopped eating and looked up at Mike. "What do you mean?"

Mike shook his head and sighed before picking up his napkin, wiping his mouth and placing said table linen back in his lap. "I mean, it doesn't take a genius to figure out that something is going on between you two. Now come on, out with it."

The way Mike had used the phrase "something is going on between you two" made John's heart rate go up a few notches and his throat tighten to the point it was getting hard to swallow. Closing his eyes and sighing, John put his fork down on his plate before rubbing both of his eyes with one of his hands. Part of him just wanted to change the subject but he knew, deep down, that there was no way Mike was going to let it go; the concerned look on his face told him that much. In the end, John decided to let Mike in on his little problem. Who knows, maybe his old friend would have a solution.

"The thing is Mike, there **is** something going on. I need advice, but...the subject is a delicate one so I would appreciate it if you kept what we are about to talk about to yourself," Mike nodded and waited for John to continue, "I think...I think Sherlock...I think Sherlock has a thing for me."

Mike did his best not to laugh at John's choice of words. He figured coming out and saying "attraction" would of made it too real for the poor doctor, who was obviously having a hard time coping with such news. Lowering his voice so as to not draw attention from the surrounding tables, Mike asked, "Well do you have, as you so eloquently put it, a **thing** for him"

A uneasy and awkward laugh escaped John's persons at Mike's question. He then shook his head and waved his hand like he was dismissing the very idea. "Don't...Don't patronize me Mike. And no, I don't."

Much to John's displeasure, Mike's face split into a grin so wide that one would of thought the man had won the lottery or something equally as pleasant.

John raised one of his eyebrows in confusion. "What?"

"You do."

If John had been eating or drinking, he would of surely send remnants of whatever was in his mouth flying all over the place in front of him. "What?! No I don't!"

Mike continued to smile as he raised a finger and pointed it right at John. "You so do. It's written all over your face."

For a few moments, John simply sat there and spluttered. He wanted to respond with something but, for the life of him, he couldn't come up with a proper retort. All he could come up with was another simple flat out denial but, by the look on Mike Stamford's face, it wasn't going to work. Face falling in defeat John leaned back in his chair and turned to look out the window. Crowds of people were now walking by, some of them paired up and holding hands and, for a split second, John wondered what it would be like for him and Sherlock to be one of those couples.

"Well...maybe I thought I might..."

Finally they were getting somewhere. A satisfied Mike leaned back in his own chair, sandwich now forgotten for more pressing and important matters. "What made you change your mind?"

John continued to stare out the window as he answered. "These two other guys."

Well that certainly wasn't the answer Mike was expecting. If anything, said answer downright confused him. Who was John Watson to let two perfect strangers dictate how he was going to live his life? He knew the army had changed his friend, but to change him in such a drastic way was just to farfetched.

John glanced over at Mike and noticed the look of utter confusion on his face. Turning his attention from the window, John rested his elbows on the table and made a sweeping gesture with his hands. "I checked out these two guys at this restaurant that me and Sherlock were eating at and I...felt...nothing."

Mike leaned in closer to John again, a serious look on his face. "But you felt something for Sherlock."

John threw his hands up in the air, letting them fall none too gracefully down into his lap. "I don't bloody know! Maybe? But it doesn't matter because I'm not gay."

"Does one have to be gay to have feelings for someone? Why can't you just like them for what both of you are and just leave it at that?"

If Mike was confused before, it was nothing compared to how confused John was at this point in time. His brow was scrunched up in tense thought, a hand reaching up to wipe away the moisture that had collected on his lips from constantly licking them. He returned to resting his elbows on the table top and folded his hands together so as to create a place to rest his chin.

"So, you're saying that I should let myself have these feelings for Sherlock and just say bugger off to the fact on whether I am gay or not."

Mike nodded as if it was the most obvious thing in the world before going back to eating his sandwich. "People do it all the time. I'm a firm believer that everyone has a special someone out there, a soul mate that regardless of sex, race or religion draws us to them, and I believe you found yours in Sherlock."

For a moment, John did nothing but sit there and stare off into space while Mike finished eating. Mike's words swam around in John's head, making a whole lot of sense but, at the same time, making no sense at all. How could someone be attracted to someone and leave all precepts behind? How could he have feelings for Sherlock when he clearly wasn't attracted to other men? He buried his face in his hands, food very much forgotten and a heavy weight of emotions resting on his shoulders. Who was he kidding. Ever since he had met Sherlock, John had been thoroughly captivated by the man. At some point captivation had turned into admiration, admiration into trust and trust into infatuation. He wasn't sure if he could call it "love" just yet but he most certainly knew he wanted to explore a relationship with the man.

John exhaled through his nose as he lifted his face partially out of his cupped hands. '_Great, so I'm going to have to figure out an apology **and** a way to tell him I have feelings for him. Wonderful.'_

################################################## #########

Ah John. So confused and frustrated with his feelings. Thank god he has friends like Mike around to set him "straight" right? *hehehe* I actually hope the conversation between Mike and John was believable and well laid out. It was quite a challenge to make sure I stayed in the boundaries of the character and I hope I did as well as I think.

Also, just as a side note, if you think about it, Mike Stamford is the true genius in SHERLOCK. If it wasn't for him, John and Sherlock wouldn't of ever found each other. They never would of found the ying to their yang or the missing piece to their life puzzle. Mike Stamford is the captain of this ship and he shall sail it smoothly into the sunset!

Rate and comment! (:


	4. Chapter 4

**Authors Notation:** I would like to apologize for the length of time that has gone on between updates. I recently came down with a horrid sore throat that then decided to turn into a annoying and debilitating summer cold. I only recently have gotten back into functioning mode and have had the energy to continue writing. *bows* I hope all my readers can forgive the laps in time and I hope the wait was very much worth it.

**Disclaimer: **Me no own and me make any money off of this.

**Chapter Four**

The rest of their meal at the Canteen was spent in total silence. Considering the conversation they had just participated in, Mike figured John needed some time to go over things privately in his head and John was silently grateful for the opportunity. By the time they were finished, it was almost noon and Mike had a pile of papers he needed to grade so they parted ways right outside. This left John by himself, standing in the middle of the pavement, trying to figure out what to do next. He had an overabundance of information to pick through and, until he achieved full clarity on everything, he didn't think going back home was a very good idea. So he turned in the other direction and began walking.

It had gotten somewhat colder as the day had progressed thanks to the breeze that had built up, occasionally cutting through the air and taking a bite out of John's exposed skin. John really wished he had enough sense to put on one of his jumpers before he left or at least had brought one with him. Not that his jacket wasn't warm, but it offered little protection against the now swirling wind. Shoving his hands in his pockets in an attempt to keep them from going numb, John continued walking down Baker Street, totally oblivious as to where his feet were taking him.

John's head was downcast as he walked, both as protection from the cold and as a natural response for being so immersed in his thoughts. He found his eyes uncharacteristically drawn to each crack along the pavement. Like his thoughts, each crack sprouted outward, coming into contact with more cracks and twisting together until one was unintelligible from the others. If were even possible, John's mental state was even more scrambled than it was before his exchange with Mike. Weren't those types of conversations supposed to help bring focus, not blur everything until it looked like a painting that had been left out in the rain? John sighed in frustration. He seriously needed to find someplace serene and filled with repose if he was to have any hope in getting his thoughts in the proper order.

Being so unmindful, John had no idea how long he had been walking, nor how far. It wasn't until he bumped into someone, and offered a quick but heartfelt apology, did he notice where he was. Looking around, John noticed he was no longer on Baker Street. He was currently standing on the corner of Seymour Street and Great Cumberland Place. It wasn't until he turned his attention down the latter did he fully comprehend his exact location. A handful of meters ahead of him was the Marble Arch that lead into Hyde Park, one of the biggest parks in London. Deciding that it was a perfect place as any, and the fact that he didn't have any other ideas, John turned and began making his way down toward the archway and hopefully the comprehensibility he so rightfully needed.

Crossing under the arch, John then made a beeline across the street, through a set of metal gates and into the park. He really didn't have an exact location in mind that he wanted to go to so he just decided to go for a leisurely walk and take in the sights while he sorted through everything. There weren't that many people out walking where he was, mostly because of the weather, but he also had a feeling the majority of people preferred to spend their time over in the Kensington Garden area. That specific area had a lot more to offer,what with the flower gardens, ponds and the occasional gathering of groups to play music. The only things the entrance that John had come in though had to offer were a plethora of grass and trees as well as the occasional sculpture. John wasn't disappointed though. He needed the privacy to think.

Slowly making his way down one of the many dirt paths, John delved deep into his mind. He had feelings for Sherlock, that much was evident. The question was though, would he really be able to put aside all rational thought about his sexuality and be able to be in a relationship with a man? Another hurdle he had to jump was how in the world he was going to go about telling him if he decided he was able to? After all, there was the matter of that insensitive remark he had made which very well could of ruined any and all of his chances.

Pausing in his walk, John looked up and gazed at the tree branches that curved and covered the pathway like the roof of some garden sanctuary. He watched as the leaves fluttered against each other, the crisp spring breeze swirling around the green foliage. He also took in the slight warmth of the suns rays as they filtered in through the branches. Closing his eyes, he imagined the breeze to be Sherlock's fingertips as the ghosted across his skin. He then imagined the heat from the sun to be Sherlock's breath as it whispered from out between thin lips and caressed his upturned face. With his eyes still closed, John couldn't help it as his own lips parted like a lovers would waiting for a kiss. The expected kiss never came though and John slowly re-opened his eyes to find a sheet of green to be the only thing to greet him.

He felt a tender heat rising to his cheeks that had nothing to do with the warmth that was surrounding him on the outside. This was ridiculous. He obviously had it bad for his, what? Colleague? Friend? Flatmate? All of the above? So what was stopping him from taking the plunge? John closed his eyes again and sighed. He knew perfectly well what it was. It was the analytical side of his brain yelling at him at how impossible it was for him to have stirrings for another man. There was just one thing wrong with that statement: Sherlock wasn't just another man. He may of only known him for three days time now, but Sherlock was indeed in a class all his own. You couldn't group him with anyone because he wasn't like anyone John had ever met. Plus, he knew Mike had a point about needing to stop putting labels on things and just have them for what they were. He had feelings for Sherlock, another male...big deal. He had these feelings and he wasn't about to sit on them to the point someone else came and swiped the genius detective up (as unlikely as that was John wasn't about to take any chances). Granted there was still a part of him that was scared out of his mind, but he figured that particular part would just shut down after a while if he ignored it long enough.

Smiling to himself, and bringing his focus back to what was going on ahead of him, John resumed his walk. He had to admit, he felt a lot lighter now that he was content in telling Sherlock how he felt. The only problem now was trying to figure out how to tell him and to make it so Sherlock didn't think he was just trying to cover his arse for the hurtful remark he had made. It was going to be a bit tricky, especially if Sherlock was still in his sour mood from this morning, but John was overcome with a strange sort of confidence, one that made it so he was almost positive that he would be able to pull it off with just a little more thought and consideration.

John began by thinking about past girlfriends and what he had done to portray his feeling toward them. Some he had been up front with and just expressed his feelings straight out, while others he had elaborately romanced to get his point across. John figured that his best bet would be just to tell Sherlock how he felt, but he also wanted to apologize for what he had said and, considering how deeply hurt Sherlock seemed to be, a simple "I'm sorry" just wasn't going to suffice. No, John had to make his admission special, something that not only portrayed his feelings, but the depth of his regret as well.

The first idea that presented itself was the traditional movie date. John could either take them both out to see one or stop on his way back to the flat and rent a few good films for their viewing pleasure in private. As soon as that thought reached its completion however, it quickly crumbled and lay like a pile of broken glass at his feet. Sherlock really didn't seem like someone who would enjoy sitting through any kind of movie or television program. He probably would find them dull and utterly predictable. Sighing, John picked up the imaginary pieces and threw them into the bin inside his head before moving on to the next idea.

A romantic candle light dinner was the second construct that wormed its way into John's head. Unfortunately, that idea was quickly tossed out as quickly as it came about. All of this mess started over dinner and John really wasn't keen on bringing about any reminders of the night before. Tonight was about mending and forgetting the past, not picking at fresh wounds until they bled. Besides, a candlelit meal seemed for too cliché and would probably just gain an eye roll from the consulting detective.

As John continued to journey deeper into the park, his list of possible date ideas became shorter and shorter. In fact, it wasn't until he was astride the bridge that separated The Long Water from the Serpentine that John realized that his options had pretty much been depleted. John let loose a gentle sigh as he rested his forearms onto the stone railing nestled at the center of the bridge. By this point, the number of people that surround him had increased tremendously, but he paid that particular fact little mind. Unless they could help him in, what he considered to be, the greatest conundrum of his life, they were just random faces that meant nothing to him right now.

Looking out over the Serpentine, John's attention was drawn to the handful of boats that were cutting across the waters surface. Most of the occupants seemed to be couples enjoying a nice afternoon on the lake. For a moment, John wondered if him and Sherlock enjoying such a relaxing activity, taking in the sent of the breeze and the sun glinting off the waters surface, would be in any way appealing. John shook his head and dismissed the idea however, as such a activity seemed far to public for what he had planned. No, however he ended up confessing his feeling to Sherlock, and apologizing for his indiscretion, it needed to be in the comfort of their flat; it needed to be in a place where they both felt comfortable and there was no better comfort than the familiarity of ones own home.

In all honesty, John was just about ready to surrender to the idea of running back to the flat and just confessing his feeling right out before falling to his knees and sincerely begging for the detective's forgiveness, when the perfect plan punched him right in the gut, snatching almost all of the wind from the confinement of his lungs. It was something so simple, yet would totally set the desired mood he was hoping to achieve (and probably was the only date idea that Sherlock wouldn't scoff at). He wasn't a hundred percent sure if he was going to be able to pull off exactly what he had in mind, but there was a strong knot of hope in his chest that refused to be unwound. Not even bothering to hide to ridiculous smile that spread across his face, John pushed himself away from where he was lounging and briskly make his way back to Baker Street.

###

John pretty much barreled into 221B, taking the steps two at a time before bursting in through the door to the sitting room, only to find Sherlock no longer situated at the kitchen table immersed in his experiments. Upon further inspection of the flat, it was discovered that Sherlock was completely absent from the building entirely. At first, John was somewhat disappointed, but then realized it was probably a good thing considering it would give him time to plan and get his emotions under control. It wasn't until late evening that John began to get worried and wondered if Sherlock was coming back to flat at all that night. Wanting to make it so all his careful planning hadn't been for naught, John decided to text him and see if he could persuade the consulting detective to come home before it got any later. That is providing Sherlock didn't just ignore him like he had done this morning.

_Where are you?_

_Sent: 7:28pm  
Received: 7:29pm_

It was a long while before John had gotten any response to point he was afraid that Sherlock was indeed still in his previous sour mood and was still on the course of disregarding the ex-army doctor. When his mobile did eventually vibrate however, John almost lost his grip and fumbled the device open.

_At Barts. In morgue. Experiment.  
_– _SH_

_Sent: 7:38pm  
Received: 7:39pm_

John smiled in amusement at the thought of Sherlock conducting one of his experiments against some poor unsuspecting corpse. Normally, the thought would have been repulsive, but John quickly found Sherlock's antics to be quite charming as his feeling for him had deepened.

_When are you coming home?_

_Sent: 7:40pm  
Received: 7:40pm_

The next response from Sherlock didn't take nearly as long as the first. In fact, it was almost immediate to John's pleasure.

_Not sure. Why?  
_– _SH_

_Sent: 7:41pm  
Received: 7:41pm_

John thought long and hard for a good long moment. He didn't want to give his plans away, but at the same time, he needed to convey urgency so that Sherlock was sure to come at a decent enough hour to do what John had plans for.

_Something has happened Need you home asap._

_Sent: 7:45pm  
Received: 7:46pm_

Sherlock's response was almost instantaneous.

_Be right there.  
_– _SH_

_Sent: 7:46  
Received: 7:46 _

John couldn't hold back the affectionate smile that appeared on his face at the reality that, despite what had transpired between them earlier, Sherlock still cared enough about him to come to his aid. He really hated that he was sounding like something drastic had happened, but in a sense, didn't something as life changing as realizing you had feelings for your flatmate fall under that category? Putting his phone back in his pocket, John quickly made his way out onto the second landing of their flat and all but sprinted up the stairs to the third floor to put his plan into motion.

################################################## #########

Oh what does John have planned for our dear Sherlock I wonder. I honestly was previously going to be going with a romantic dinner but then my muse realized the danger in that, as stated in my fic, and fortunately came up with a far more simple yet more romantic idea. I can't wait to reveal it. *waggles eyebrows*

Again, I hope the wait was worth it and I look forward to gracing you with the next chapter very soon. ^_^

Don't forget to leave those wonderful reviews and/or comments! My muse eats them up! lol


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